Weer Vrij:In Flanders fields
by papajack1
Summary: The allies have pushed deep into German-occupied europe and are poised to fully liberate the low-contries. But with the unexpected failure of operation market garden and a dug in opponent, Matthieu Williams finds that fullfilling his task will be easier said then done...
1. Chapter 1

A bright orange sun shined as it's rays lighted the strikingly beautiful landscape of the Dutch countryside. Fall had set in and the trees, grass and scrubs had all turned color. Birds flew low between the branches, disturbed as they were by the grinding of high-power engines pulling armoured vehicles, transport trucks and the accompanying jeeps.

From where he was sitting, Ludwig could see full well the small dirt road that lead to the village behind him and he watched as the convoy of raw recruits rolled past the dreamy scenery. His back against his jeep stopped on a small hill, he sighed. Duty was calling.

So he got up on his feet, brushed the dirt off his otherwise pristine uniform and turned to overlook the village. The trucks had entered the town square and the soldiers, young and old, were calmly getting out.

"Enjoying the scenery, brüder?"

Ludwig tensed up and did not turn to meet the voice that was speaking to him.

"I was, actually. It's a shame Feliciano isn't here...I'd ask him to paint me a portrait." He smiled.

The Albino nation continued to walk towards Ludwig until he was standing right next to him.

"Truthfully, I still don't understand what you see in those Italians. They've never had the teeth to fulfill their ambitions." Scoffed Gilbert, he never had any real regards for the peninsular nation before and after it's unification.

Ludwig sighed again "It's quite simple actually, Gilbert. He reminds me to smile. He's a dreamer and I'm a doer, the world needs both to keep turning."

"Fair enough" struggled Gilbert.

"So, I gather that these are the auxiliaries that were to be re-affected?" Ludwig turned around on his heels and began heading over as he asked the question to which he could already guess the answer as Gilbert followed him still.

"Yes," he said as he and Ludwig walked up the road to where the soldiers where disembarking, "every sailor, Lufftwaffe field unit, Normandy survivor and draftee that we could muster."

Both stopped a few meters away from the trucks, glancing quickly at the soldiers and all they saw where tired and weary looks, dirty mismatched or torn uniforms, men that were getting too old for soldiering or who would normally be too young, with their fingers running along their rifles as if they had never held or fired one.

"Will it be enough though…?"

The words left Gilbert's lips like a silent whisper carried by the wind, but it landed in the other's hear like a bomb.

"Will it be enough though..." Ludwig's brain echoed incecently for what seamed hours. No, it wasn't enough, but it had to be. There was simply too much at stake.

He would make it enough.

Breaking out of his thoughts with a slight shake of his head, he cleared his throat. "Brüder, organize these men immediately and start training them as soon as possible."

"Not even a please?!"

Ludwig didn't even need to see the expression on Gilbert's face right now, he could feel all too well that arrogant smile accentuated by that look of his.

"Now's not the time of place for that, you jack- wait, do you feel that?"

The air around them had suddenly filled with distant vibrations, the kind he would feel when a large group of tanks would roll by... Or when the sky was full of big engine airplanes.

"Is that what I fear it is?" asked Gilbert

Ludwig nodded sharply just as his lips spoke the words everyone dreaded most since Normandy: "Fallshirmjaegers."

It wasn't long before they began appearing far off in the heavens above, gliding with the grace of a hundred black eagles, unleashing their cargo of trained men and their gear.

Gazing at this spectacle, both beautiful and more frightening then a great many things, Ludwig muttered a curse directed at fate along with a single word.

"Already?"

Sub-machine gun in hand, Gilbert clasped the other's shoulder as soldiers where running for their AA guns, screaming orders or unloading the last of their supplies in a most hasty manner.

"War is a cruel mistress. Beautiful, but harsh beyond measure. I've heard the thunder of a thousand guns, seen a million men charge across an open plain, the proud look of men as they parade trough the Streets. Don't forget what you're fighting for, Ludwig! It's time to go, the men need you!"

With a fiery passion in his eyes, Ludwig nodded, grabbed his own weapon and prepared for the coming bitter struggle.

Life was slowly going back to normal for those who called the Belgian city of Antwerp their home. Small groups of people were beginning to walk the streets again. There were discussions, smiles and even laughter in some parts if one listened carefully enough.

And has the young avatar of the Canadian province of Quebec named Philippe Williams walked along the 45 kilometres of docks that were the city's livelihood and pride, he couldn't help but smile himself. There was no denying that the world was still at war, but at least it was a start.

The young man, his skin tanned to near perfection from his time in Italy along with short blond hair and bright teal green eyes, walked with a light and excited step at the promise of his destination as he carried a small picnic basket in his hands. He was on his way to meet someone special: The avatar for the nation of Belgium, Ève Hasselman.

He and Ève had always had a special relationship, dating back to the great war of 1914 when, under attack from the German empire, Arthur Kirkland had pledged himself and his empire to the protection of the neutral nation. And as a dominion, he and his adoptive father, Matthew Williams of Canada, had been thrown into the fray.

And here he was again, 30 years later, in the low, beautiful fields of Flanders. The weapons had changed, the tactics had changed, but men from Germany, the British empire, France and America were still fighting and dying.

But none of it mattered right now, as he approached the door of the apartment Ève stayed in, a barely contained smile doted his face as he walked up the small concrete stairs and knocked.

Footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door as well as muttered words. "I'm coming!" Said the feminine voice in a French sounding accent. Philippe went down the steps again as the noise intensified.

After a second's wait, the door opened, revealing a woman dressed in clothes fit for autumn, and Philippe had to admit that she wore the outfit especially well. He wasn't slacking behind either, with his high-quality officer dress, high brown leather boots, matching gloves and great coat.

"Well, well," she began with a laugh in her voice as she examined Philippe from head to toe even as he posed so she could have a better look, " I believe I haven't seen anyone who looked so handsome for quite some time, Philippe."

"Many thanks, my lady." Replied Philippe, taking off his hat and offering her a bow. It was both for fun as it was for curtsey, their rank as nations warranting such respect. "And if I may, you look dashing yourself." He continued, raising his head just as he spoke with a smirk.

"And what would that be in your hands?"

"Oh, that?" Philippe raised the basket with his hand after regaining his composure, he then reached inside, "It's such a fine day, I thought we could enjoy a glass or two of genuine French champagne!" he said as he pulled the bottle out and showed it to her.

"That," Ève began walking down the small flight of stairs that separated her from him, eventually stopping directly in front of him, "... sounds like a great idea, Philippe."

And then, as a gentleman would, he offered his arm to her which she quickly took and both began walking into the streets with a slow, steady pace clearly enjoying the moment.

"So, where are we going exactly?"

"Well, in all honesty," he began, clearing his throat, "I don't know the city all that well so I was hoping that you would know someplace we could set up."

"Oh, anywhere along the harbour will be fine. I find the water quite soothing."

"The port it is, then!"

And after a few meters' walk, they decided upon a spot with a clear view of the canal and quickly spread a blanket on the ground as to be more comfortable on the brick layered street before sitting down and opening the bottle. Both simply sat there, enjoying their drink and a moment of peace in each other's company.

"You were right, I had forgotten how looking at water could be so soothing..."

Ève turned her head towards her companion as he watched the water being moved by the wind and tide.

"So you grew up around water a lot, hmm?" She asked.

"Did I?! I spent most of my time in either Quebec City or Montreal, both of which are very important ports. Also, me and P'pa have this tradition were we go skating on the Saint-Lawrence each winter so we can at least spend some quality father-son time each year." explained Philippe, a timid smile appearing every now and then at the recollection of a cherished memory.

"You obviously care a great deal about him, don't you? I can see that as well as I can see you ."

Philippe sighed deeply "I do, I really do. I've know him almost all my life, and spent all that time no farther than a corridor or horse ride away for most of the time. It's just…things have gotten so complicated with the wars, the economy and the overall craziness of provincial politics mingled with different linguistical and religious identities. For example, imagine if Flanders had it's own avatar and that you and it had to work towards a consensus over every single major issue!"

Ève listened carefully throughout. It was indeed true that she knew full well what Philippe was talking about as her people were divided between Wallonian and Flemish groups and that, what one group supported the other rejected with equal force which usually brought on accusations of all sorts down to the most sordid and racist.

Now then, what if both sides had an avatar and one side dominated the other in both population and economics?

As she thought, both remained silent until she decided to break the silence again. "Do you want to know what I think, Philippe?"

"Bien sûr que oui, ma chère." He replied flirtingly.

"I think it speaks volume about your character, that you'd be willing to still try and make it work despite everything that's happening... I know I stopped trying more then ounce. And while I don't regret my decisions, I know not everyone would make them."

"So" Philippe hesitantly began "what do you think I should do?"

"That is for you to decide and no one else. In matters like these, you should follow your own heart." She said with a quiet passion underlying her tone.

"Follow my heart" quietly mumbled Philippe as he repeated it to himself before continuing, " I like that, actually." He smiled.

"Well, then I'm glad I could help you, Philippe." She smiled back.

Ever since they had sat down the air had been slowly getting cooler and cooler and now, as time passed on, that cold air was starting to go trough the pair's clothes. It wasn't long until Ève found herself having small shivers every now and then, something that Philippe didn't fail to notice.

"Good grace, you're freezing!" he exclaimed as he began to remove his great coat, quickly but gently wrapping the Belgian nation in it once done, "There, that should do the trick." He smiled.

"My god!" Heartedly laughed Eve, "I can tell Arthur raised you, such a gentleman!"

And at that, Philippe took another bow, hat off and all, before speaking in a more then correct English accent, "Perish the thought, madam! I simply couldn't bear to see you cold as such, it just wouldn't be decent."

"Stop it, you! You're getting more adorable by the minute! And if I may, where did you learn to speak like that?"

Philippe cleared his throat before answering, cracking a smile as he did "That's something I'd be willing to talk over a cup of warm coffee back at your apartment."

"D'accord, but what about the champagne?" She nodded.

Philippe glanced nervously back at the basket it's content before looking back at Ève, "Yes, about that, I might need your help sneaking it back into Francis's private stash from which I stole it..."

"YOU WHAT!?" She exclaimed, more shocked rather then angry at the fact that Philippe had stolen the bottle.

"What!?" He protested, raising his hands in defense ," I have peculiar tastes!"

To which Ève replied by giving Philippe a gentle shove, "that's not the point, dummy."

Philippe, smirking, then grabbed hold of the basket and gently placed his free hand around Ève's shoulders and brought her closer to him as they both walked. Still smiling, he looked into her eyes, "Let's just go."

Matthieu sat at his desk in the room he and Philippe had taken for themselves in the Church the Canadian army had turned into a temporary head-quarters. As he read trough the many documents piling on his desk, many thoughts were occupying the dominion's mind; what to do with the degrading supply line, defense plans in case of a full-scale German counter-attack and most of important of all: what of Alfred, Arthur and Field Marshall Montgomery's grand scheme?

The two great-powers that were his "brother" and master had been among the first paratroopers to drop over the occupied Netherlands, despite protest from Matthieu and Philippe that a clearing of the Scheldt would be a much better short term plan as well as reports from the Dutch underground that a large amount of armor and elite units were in the area, and now that operation "Market Garden" was turning into the disaster all had feared, there was no sign of them anywhere.

Enough to cause Matthieu's headache and impatience to grow by each tick of the antique wooden clock that hung on the wall behind him.

And just as he finally finished reading his file, he simply let it drop and with a yawn, removed his glasses, pressed his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes with his palms. As he did so, the door opened, revealing a man dressed in an officer's uniform with the general's insignia shown in plain sight. It was Guy Simonds, Commander of the First Canadian army.

"Any news at all?" he asked as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Matthieu immediately stopped and put his glasses back on before raising his head to look at the approaching General, "None at all, sir," he said, his voice still carrying his tiredness, "It's making me quite nervous, to be honest. We might have to push into the Netherlands by ourselves if things don't get better and if the reports I've been reading all day long are any indication...I fear we're simply overstretched."

"Which brings me to why I am here now. Parliament has just made an important decision and I thought I should be the one to tell you." Said the General. In his hands was another file but it was in a cover that was reserved for communications from the government.

"Here," He continued, handing the file to Matthieu who, intrigued and slightly bothered that he had to do yet more reading, wasted no time in opening it and give it a quick read…and did not like what was written one bit.

"What in the..." he began, quietly pronouncing each word separately. "They're proposing, no, ordering, that conscription be extended to overseas service! And they didn't even ask me for my opinion at that! What the hell are they thinking over there!?" At that, Matthieu violently threw the damn document on his desk, making some of the other pieces of paper scatter and fly off.

"Well, Matthew, you've said it yourself…we're simply getting overstretched. With low recruitment at home and the casualties we're taking we'll have to take certain measures sooner rather then later."

Matthieu sighed wearily, "Yes, I understand that you and the government have responsibilities but I also have my own, more long term and crucial ones and right now they're colliding so tell them to sit on it until I give the okay."

Then, the general stepped closer to Matthieu, "Sir, if it's Philippe you're worried about, it might be a good idea to break it to him now rather then wait so he at least can get used to the facts, because it's going to have to happen, whether he likes it or not."

"I'll deal with my son the way I want, but your advice is well noted and it's precisely the reason why I don't want conscription to be enacted right now. I know for a fact that he'll understand if we really have no choice and it'll go much easier with the people at home. I think we can all agree that the last thing we need are conscription riots like we had during the last war."

It was then that the two noticed the noise going on outside. At first, both hadn't taken any attention to it, but all the while they were talking the commotion outside had grown steadily, bringing with it the sounds of truck engines and many hundreds of walking feet and the clinging of the gear that those walking had on their backs.

As the sound got closer and closer, Matthieu grabbed his coat from his chair and walked out of his "office" at a quick pace, closely followed by Simonds. As they both emerged from the church's front door, they found themselves in a tangle of Anglo-American soldiers, paratroopers by the looks of their gear and insignias, moving towards the HQ, some wounded or torn, all exhausted from the doomed endeavour they had been thrown in.

Standing out amongst the silent mass where soldiers: an American who had a crude bandage below the knee that was in dire need of changing, and a shorter Brit whom was busy helping his companion to walk. And as both of them walked straight for Matthieu, he couldn't help but smile.

Arthur and Alfred had made it out.

Matthieu quickly spun on his heels and faced the general, "Sir, get every ambulance and every crate of medical supplies you can find, steal them from someone else if need be and get help for these guys…they've been trough enough. And if you can, send someone to look for Philippe and bring him back here, I'll need to talk to him."

Simonds answered with a nod and went on his way just as Matthieu was walking towards the duo stumbling slowly and helped Arthur carry Alfred to Matthieu's office. As Matthieu lifted Alfred's arm to wrap it over his shoulders, Alfred gave him a gentle tug and a slight smile, "It's good to see you again, bro."

"Yeah, I know Al. It's great to see you too, both of you…I was worried sick. What the hell happened?" asked the Canadian.

"Get me inside and with a cup of coffee and I promise I'll explain everything." smiled Alfred.

And after a gentle pat on the back, Matthieu smiled back "Done deal."

"OOOOWWWW!"

The long, wailing complaint came screeching out of the American avatar's mouth like thunder scorching the sky. Laying on his back on one of Matthieu's office tables, Alfred couldn't really see as she worked… but to his great dismay, he certainly could feel the surgical instruments she was wielding digging into his knee, probing for shrapnel.

They soon found one, and denied of anesthetics as he was, it wasn't long for the American to make himself heard.

"You know…this would be a lot easier if you'd stop twitching." the Belgian nation spoke with a weary sigh.

"Yeah!? Well it'd be easier to stop if it weren't that painful!" Alfred practically screamed.

"Painful!? Try digging a crossbow bolt out of your thigh with a knife, that's painful!" she replied, annoyed.

"Ève, you're wasting your time. I had to go trough the same thing each time I had to give him a haircut." interjected Arthur, who soon returned to his conversation with the two Canadians who where sitting in front of him. "But I'm telling you, they've learned. They took what you two did in Ortona and what the Russians did in Stalingrad and they applied it on us. The cities were real death traps, with each building connected to the sewers so that each time we cleared a building and left they just took it right back. We never stood a chance, especially with those two up there." spoke the Englishman, describing what had happened in a steady tone to the two calmly receptive avatars, exchanging glances from time to time and a long one at the mention that not only Ludwig was there, but Gilbert also.

"So, what do you think, sir?" Philippe said after a long silence.

"I think that these two being there means that this war isn't over, not by a long shot. If they're there, then they're planning something…something big."

"That's what I think too, Matthieu, which is why we need Antwerp open as soon as possible." replied Arthur.

"Oh, so now he wants to go ahead with it!" scoffed Philippe as he suddenly stood up.

Matthieu glared up harshly at his province, something the young avatar didn't fail to notice, "Not now, Philippe!"

And at that, Philippe, irritated, walked towards the wall behind them and leaned against it in a thump loud enough for the two others near him to hear. The two carried on their conversation nevertheless.

"So, when can you leave?" asked the empire.

"I'd say tomorrow would be a good time, I can send out the orders now and have everything ready by morning." the dominion replied as he sank slowly in his seat.

"Splendid, then," replied Arthur as he got up on his feet, "I'm giving you command of some of the foreign units under my command: the Poles, the Dutch, and the Belgians." Arthur let his words trail off as he turned his head towards Ève, still dutifully tending to Alfred's knee, "This is an important responsibility, Matthieu, and I'm sure that you understand that I'm counting on you."

Matthieu, almost as if right on queue, got up from his seat and addressed Arthur a salute, "You can count on us, sir. We won't let you down."

Answering with a sharp nod, Arthur turned and walked out of the office, leaving the rest of the group behind. And as he walked, Matthieu couldn't help but feel Philippe's eyes on him and it wasn't long until the young, soft, French accented voice made itself heard.

"Still the good little soldier, huh?"

Matthieu turned towards Philippe and looked into his eyes as his own expression became more thoughtful by each spoken word, "It's just for show, Philippe. You saw him too, how he was not his usual self. How he didn't speak with the same authority that comes with being an empire. He just saw a lot of his men fight and die in a vicious situation. I think it's fair to say that he needs all the support he can get, and if little things like that help him get better then why not."

And as a small, compassionate smile appeared on Philippe's face, Matthieu knew his words had hit the mark, "Yeah, I guess you're right on that. Désoler for that outburst, too, I was out of place."

"Don't make a big deal out of it, bro." Philippe leaned slightly to his side to see, prompting Matthieu to turn around. There was Alfred, now sitting on the table with his knee visibly freshly bandaged up.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're right. That estuary should have been cleared weeks ago, instead I had to cave in to that crazy plan." Alfred marked a pause before continuing, "Don't worry about Arthur, I'll take care of him. You lot just focus on what you have to do and get back here safely, I'd rather not have to mount a rescue with this leg!" He chuckled as he rolled down his pant's sleeve before slowly and carefully getting back on his feet, helped by Ève in doing so.

"Forget about us and just take care of yourself," smiled Eve as she continued, "if it starts to bleed again, come and see me."

Alfred answered with a loud scoff that sounded more like a laugh, "I'd rather get the blacksmith!" Then, as he walked to the door and opened it, Alfred turned around one last time, "I'm going to see Arthur, and Math? Remember what I said: be safe out there." He didn't wait for a reply, simply walked through and closed the door behind him.

"Well, I guess that leaves us then," smiled Matthieu, " look, it's been a long day already so why don't the two of you use the rest of it for some together time."

Philippe then looked at Matthieu with a surprised expression, "Huh? What are you talking about, P'pa?"

"Philippe, I might need glasses but that doesn't mean that I'm blind, I can see how you look at each other. So I'm telling you, go have some fun. I can manage things up here." Then, as Philippe's expression turned to a full smile, Matthieu continued, "Well? What are you waiting for? Allez!" Gesturing his arms as if to shoo away the two remaining nations from his office, although his warm and friendly smile countered the effect.

Nevertheless, the duo soon took off themselves, leaving Matthieu to sink back into his comfortable seat. As soon as he did so, he took a sheet of paper and began to write on it his orders for mobilization. Soon after, he thought, he'd give it to a runner who would take it to the general's quarter's and leave to him all the trouble while he took a well deserved rest with a warm meal. Maybe he'd even take a tour of the city before going to sleep.

Because he damn well knew that if the reports from the Scheldt were accurate, he'd need all the rest, sleep and tranquility he could get.

Ève sat on her bed, a rifle in her hands as she inspected the weapon for any signs of dirt or broken pieces. A British uniform, complete with ammo belts and a helmet, laid at her side as she diligently worked on her weapon.

The turning of the door knob behind her was almost hidden by the repeated quick loading and firing of her empty Lee-Enfield. It wasn't long until Philippe's curious face appeared in the small crack.

A rapid survey of the room was enough to see that military gear was everywhere: a semi-automatic handgun on the drawers, stripper clips on the bed table and so on. As he looked, Philippe couldn't resist the urge to ask the obvious "Ève, what are you doing?" he asked at length.

"What does it look like?" she answered, not turning towards Philippe but instead going to grab her handgun before continuing, "You heard what Arthur said, if the Belgian army is going with you, then I'm coming, too."

As if all his shyness had at once disappeared, Philippe practically bounced inside the room, "Ève, that's insane! You barely got out of German custody and you're going to throw yourself back out there!?" He then began to walk to the edge of the bed before sitting down, his back nearly touching hers.

"Philippe," she began, with her voice rising steadily to a firm tone, "My Brother is still out there. I HAVE to help him!"

Philippe sighed. "Look, I understand that, but think about it: we're clearing the Scheldt, after that it's only a matter of months before we're in Amsterdam. I think you're of better use here, making things like they used to be again."

"What if it was Matthieu out there?"

"What? Leave P'pa out of this!"

"Why?" she asked, undisturbed by the defensive protest. She marked a pause before continuing. "Ask yourself what you would do if Matthieu was trapped out there. What did you do?"

Philippe tensed up, he knew what she was referring to all too well. The sensations came back to him as easily as the images: bodies littered about the trench, the stench from the urine soaked rag tied over his nose and mouth to ward off the gas that filled the air around him. As he remembered, he leaned backwards, eventually pressing his back against Ève's in such a manner that his head rested on her's as well.

Gently caressing her hand, he cleared his throat. "If it were P'pa out there, I'd make sure to pack enough bullets to fight my way into hell and back."

Ève was now caressing his hand in a soothing manner, not speaking a word as she felt the effects it had on him. His muscles became more relaxed and he even began rubbing his head against her's slightly and she was sure he had a timid smile as he did so.

Both stayed as such for a small moment, and she was the one who moved the first. She turned her body around completely so that her knees were now resting where she had sit, and, quickly as she did so, she wrapped her arms around Philippe's neck so that his head came resting on her chest. "Philippe, I know you love me and that's making you insecure," she spoke, her tone almost down to a hush, "But all you need to know is that I love you and that I can take care of myself." At that point, she tightened her hold on him, hugging him whilst looking down just as he raised hid head to look at her. "Trust me."

Philippe raised a hand to tenderly grab hold of one of hers, all the while smiling. "Okay, but I have three conditions." He replied, rubbing the top of her hand with his thumb. "First of all, I need you to follow orders." He continued.

"That would be a given, non?" She retorted.

"Secondly: if we decide to send you home, you go home."

"I…I understand." she replied after a badly contained sigh. "So, what's the last one?" she asked.

At that moment, Philippe pushed himself up and kissed her, running a hand through her hair while the other went to her back as she did the same. The kiss lasted but a moment, and as Philippe pulled back, he smiled. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist."

"Oh, I didn't mind." she replied, giving Philippe a gentle shove with her shoulder.

Philippe smiled back, but it soon died when he took a look at the clock. "It's late," he wearily said, "I guess it's time for us to sleep, huh?" He continued before getting off the bed and towards the door he had come from, slowly opening it wide and stopping there, holding the door with his hand as he turned around to give Ève one last look. As he did, he blew her a kiss. "Ciao, Bella."

"Ciao, Bello." she replied, blowing him a kiss of her own.

The sun hadn't completely risen yet but the trucks and armored troop carriers were lined up perfectly, their headlights piercing trough the low-hanging morning mist as the soldiers silently waited to climb aboard in good order.

Matthieu watched has he laid against the lead truck. Before long, Ève and Philippe walked up to him, all geared up for combat.

"Are you both ready?" he asked, to which both nodded sharply.

Matthieu then walked to the driver's side and opened the door, turning to his men behind. "Mount up!" he shouted and the order was carried by the various NCO's in the army as it complied. Ève and Philippe did too, taking place in the front and back. Once everything was in order, Matthieu peaked his head out of the window to look back at the convoy, his thoughts going to the men in it, for he was bound to lose many of them. With a sigh, he sat back down.

"Let's go, then."

* * *

Author's notes.

Hello everyone! First of all, this story connects a lot to my previous collab Alea iacta est, so in case you haven't read it, here's a link to the first part [link]

Now, before we begin on the historical notes and translations, I have this to say. This was to be the secound collaboration between myself and Kitaklaw (A fellow writer whom deactivated her account), but, as life would have it... Well. So, has agreed to try and take up the duties of the secound part. However, due to reasons which are her own, she might not be able to do so, or at least not emmidiatly.

Also, if you're getting GerIta feels at the start... It's because I was reading Auf Wiedersehen Sweatheart by George Duvalier at the time I started writting...

Now, without further dragging on, I give yee... The notes!

After the success of the Italian campaign in 1943, the allies landed in Normandy and eventually drove off the Germans in the area. However, with the advance going as fast as it was combined with the fact that the germans had either destroyed, desabled, or fortified every port big enough to service the supply fleets (for exemple, Dunkirk, the port famous for being the site of operation Dynamo, the british evacuation of France in 1940, would remain in German hands until their surrender), the supply problems threatened the war effort itself. Due to this, the British/Canadian forces began a mad drive along the eastern coast, destroying and capturing many of the coastal batteries the Germans had built for their atlantic wall, the main goal was the capture of Antwerp... The biggest port of all europe. By a twist of fate, even in allied hands, Antwerp was useless. The Scheldt estuary was mined and guarded by heavy guns in Breskens and on Walcheren island. Soon enough, plans were made to push into those regions and open the port to traffic.

However, as this was happening, Montgomery drafted a plan to end the war by a drasticly short timetable: Market Garden. The operation called for an airborn assault to secure bridges and positions along the rhine in the Netherlands to allow an assault by the british 30th corps. If successfull, the operation would open a direct door to Berlin and bypass the formidable siegfried line. Even if moderatly successfull, it would net the allies the ports or Rotterdamn and Amsterdam, two of the largest in europe. Making a Scheldt offensive useless.

At the same time, the Germans were marshalling a new army in the area, made up of marines, sailors, lufftwaffen ground troops and young conscripts... As well as Dutch and Belgian mechanized SS divisions backed up by an armored SS division.

Despite repeated reports by the dutch underground resitance of this, as well as Patton's own distrust of the plan (he advocated that HIS advance trough the border forts was a better idea and more worthy of supplies...), high command went along with it, with the results we know. 10.000 paratroopers were killed or captured and 30th corp never made it far enough.

This left the allies in a desparate situation, with all available supplies having being put into Market garden, opening Antwerp was now the absolute priority. The task fell on the 1st Canadian army, under temporary command of polish, Dutch and Belgian forces, as well as (eventually) an american division and Royal marines.

This was just my small summary of what happened up to this point, if you want a detailed account, here's the source I used for this story... You will find it most descriptive: [link]

Matthieu's fears over conscription come from what it did to the contry, and what it keeps on doing, in WW1. It tore a rift between Anglo and French Canadians as well as provoke an actuall riot in Quebec city which was put down in blood by the army. It's also the source of much of the bitterness towards Matthieu and Arthur Philippe feels.

Also, Gilbert's remarcks at the start about Italy comes from Otto Von Bismarck.

Now, on to the translations! (if you have any questions or need more information, ask in a comment and I shall answer.)

Brüder: Brother.

Fallshirmjägers: Paratroopers.

Bien sûr, ma chère: Of course, my dear.

Ciao, Bello/Ciao Bella: Essentially, Ciao is goodbye, with the Bella/Bello being feminine and masculine forms of the same word: Beautifull.

Weer Vrij: Dutch for "free again"

I don't own Hetalia, but I own all OC's


	2. Chapter 2

After the departure from Antwerp, the 1st Canadian army along with Dutch, Belgian and Polish troops began advancing into the Scheldt, dislodging German resistance along their way. It was slow going and dangerous, as the flooded terrain made off-road movement dangerous for both man and machine, and the Germans hadn't lost their touch for ambushes.

But those were things Matthieu couldn't change from where he was. All he could do was pray for his men and leave the rest to them as he worked to keep those directly under his command safe.

"I can at least do that much." He thought as he prepared himself for what was ahead.

The trio along with a small group of soldiers crawled silently trough the grass as they made their way towards the small farm house. Located as it was near the road, it was a perfect spot for the Germans to delay the advance… And inflict some terrible losses in the process.

"Bella, you see anything?" he asked, turning to the camouflaged nation beside him.

Quickly, she surveyed the area trough her scope. "A few sentries outside, but sir, I'm a bit worried about the attic."

"Why's that?" replied Matthieu.

"It's where I'd be, sir." replied Philippe, calmly looking into his father's eyes.

"Understood, Philippe. We'll have to act very quickly then. Bella, you stay here with half the men and set up a firing line. Me, Philippe, and the rest will crawl to the ditch near the road. Once we're set, you start firing."

"And what happens then?" Asked Ève.

"We charge in from the side, clean up and take the house."

"Sounds like a good plan to me." she grinned as they all nodded in agreement before Matthieu and his group left.

They crawled slowly but surely towards the serpentine dirt road and went into the deep, water filled ditch that hugged it. Half-crawling half-crouching, they crept on as silently as they could until they reached the spot where the road and the farm met. All that separated them from the house was a low stone wall.

The first shot rang loud and clear, and before the Germans could even understand what was happening, one of their own was dead.

Then all hell broke loose.

The rifles and machine guns of Bella's group opened up in a cacophony of noises that tore apart those Germans who hadn't begun running for cover as soon the first body fell. Then they returned fire from their scattered positions.

Their attention thus fixed, Matthieu decided that was the perfect moment to spring into action.

Raising to his full height, he quickly sighted on of the soldiers and fired, hitting him in the head. The other soldiers rose to their feet as well, and along with Matthieu and Philippe, vaulted over the wall and quickly headed for the house.

Splitting into two groups, Matthieu and Philippe went cautiously to the basement while the rest of the squad prepared to breach the front gate. Rifle at the ready, Matthieu walked down the stairs and grabbed the doorknob, turning it to no avail.

"Damn it! It's stuck!" he growled.

"Your rifle."

"What?" He retorted as he turned to the young, Québécois accented voice behind him.

"Give me your rifle, P'pa!"

Matthieu unslung his rifle and promptly handed it to Philippe who then stepped forward and proceeded to smash open the door with the stock, hitting the lock area with all his strength. The door soon gave way under the barrage of blows and as it opened with a great crack, Philippe handed back the rifle to Matthieu, who took it with a smile.

"I second what you said back in Ortona, you are a brute! It's a good thing that side of you has it's uses."

Philippe laughed, "I should hope so, I wouldn't be as likable if it didn't."

"That you are, Philippe, that you are." he replied with a wink.

Philippe, submachine gun in hand, lead the way into the basement just as their troops were entering above them in a great entanglement of gunshots and melee fighting.

"Damn, sounds like it's rough up there." Philippe said, looking up as he took a few steps inside the room before turning to Matthieu. "Maybe we should just rush up those stairs, sir."

No sooner had he spoken those words that he saw Mathieu's eyes widen in horror.

"Philippe, behind you!"

Instinctively, he reached for his revolver but didn't have time to turn fully before the German soldier took a swing at him. The trench shovel smacked him on the side of the head, knocking him off his feet.

Quickly, the soldier charged Matthieu, attempting to cleave him with the edges of the shovel. He was prepared though, and raised his rifle to block the blow.

His assault blocked, the soldier promptly discarded his weapon and attempted to snatch away his foe's rifle but all he managed to do was push the Canadian into the wall.

His opponent's attention fixed on the rifle, Matthieu sent his knee smashing into the other's stomach, which then enabled him to send the rifle stock dead-smack on the German's jaw, sending him to the ground. Before he could even realize what had happened, Matthieu's bayonet was driving it's way to his heart.

Philippe painfully rolled on his belly with a groan and his head was splitting something fierce. Getting on his knees, he saw his attacker laying on dead on the ground and his master walking towards him with a mixed look of worry and anger.

"Damn it, Philippe, you've got to pay attention! We could have both been killed!" growled Matthieu.

The young province couldn't do anything but look down and mutter a "Yes, sir" as a response. Quickly, though, he found himself with the other's arm on his shoulder, squeezing it.

"I mean it, though. If something should happen to you, I'd never forgive myself." He paused briefly. "And you can be damn sure that I'd follow you to heaven to kick you ass!"

With that, Philippe scoffed. "And I bet you could do it, too!"

The two avatars then got up on their feet, Philippe helped by Matthieu.

"Come on, let's tell Bella the good news and have that head of yours looked at."

"And get a change of clothes, I'm soaking wet! Remind me why we had to go trough the ditch like some water rats?"

The following days were filled with events similar to what had happened at the farm. All over the front the allies had slowly pushed north and east, carefully cleaning the side of the Albert canal. Eventually, the Germans were left with only with what the Canadians referred to as "the Breskens pocket" and their holdings in south Beveland in the Netherlands. Walcheren Island was the final prize, and all knew it. The fortified guns it possessed could sink any ship that dared enter the estuary and the only land link was a tiny causeway connecting it to Dutch polder country, miles and miles of marshland no doubt given back to the sea from which they had been claimed from centuries ago.

Because crossing the damn fortified Leopold Canal in separating them from the German pocket wasn't hard enough on it's own Matthieu found himself thinking, more often then not, followed with muttered curses at what he knew had to happen now.

But every problem must invariably posses it's solution and Matthieu knew that between himself, Philippe, Ève and his "water rats" as the Canadians had started calling themselves more and more, they would overcome all that was thrown in their path.

Which is why nobody, least of all him, was surprised when General Simonds called a meeting to figure out the best way to breach the line of concrete bunkers and manned dykes lining the canal.

"I won't beat about the bush," the general finally spoke as everyone stood around the map, "unless we can conjure some way of either destroying the German positions or crossing over the canal very quickly without air support, taking the pocket is going to be a nightmare."

"Nightmare" was an easy way to put it in Matthieu's mind.

A moment of silence followed as all present thought of ways to defeat the obstacle before them, but Philippe was the first to speak.

"Well then, it's really simple, isn't it? We attack all over the canal all at once and either we win or they do. Positions like these are hard to take, but a single crack in the system and it shatters." exclaimed the young province, practically beaming.

Matthieu cracked a slight smile at his province's enthusiasm just as he understood what Philippe was talking about. "And how do you propose we 'crack' it, Philippe?" he asked in turn.

"I say we see if the wasp has any sting and send assault teams in paddle boats. Once they've secure the other side, we bring up the engineers and let them do their thing. "

"That's actually a solid idea, Philippe. You know you could make one hell of a strategist, right?"

Matthieu couldn't help but feel his smile widen as he saw the mixed look of humour and frustration flash across his charge's face.

"Arrête de te moquer d'moi." the boy replied sharply, and that had been the end of the matter.

Before long, the "wasps", which were nothing more then Bren carriers outfitted with long range flamethrowers, were brought up all along the line that night. And as it happened, Philippe sat on a box there in a field, looking into the distance towards the front.

Matthieu walked calmly towards him and it wasn't long until the other detected his presence.

"You know…it seems fitting in a way." spoke the young province in a sombre tone.

"How so?" the dominion continued to walk up to Philippe, stopping only once he stood next to him.

"Well, Canada was forged as a nation in the fires of Flanders's fields, and now, with the sons of those who fought here, we're going to set it ablaze again," he paused, looking up to Matthieu, "as a nation."

"Yeah, you're right," he replied to the other," it does seem fitting, in a certain way."

For a moment, both avatars simply looked into the night, but Matthieu had a lot on his mind.

"You know," he began, clearing his throat, "I was serious earlier about your plan. You're really turning into a fine young man!"

"Yeah, well, I have a good teacher."

"Which is why you'll be leading the charge without me tomorrow."

The response was immediate and expected. Philippe practically jumped up and he stared right into his master's eyes.

"What!? And where the hell will you be, exactly!?"

"I…" he began hesitantly, "I will be leading an amphibious assault against the western flank of the pocket."

"That. Is. Suicide!" angrily grunted out Philippe.

Matthieu sighed heavily before continuing, "Only if Walcheren spots us and only if the Germans aren't too busy elsewhere to notice."

Philippe practically screamed in anger as he violently shrugged. "I can't believe it! You're only telling me this now? Well, fine then! Go on and get yourself blown out of the water!" he cried as he bolted in anger towards his tent, leaving Matthieu standing there alone.

He knew from the start how his dear province and adopted son would react. Philippe always had a strong distaste of intrigue…especially between masters and servants, but he knew that, in the end, it was the right thing to do…if only in the grand scheme of things.

And so, with his hearth heavy with guilt, he left to prepare for what was to come.

Blood, sweat, fuel and burning flesh.

Apart from the most inhuman of screams emanating from the concrete pillboxes that were suddenly turned into giant crematories, those were, by far, the strongest and foulest things assaulting his senses.

"Into the water, now!"

With a sign from his hand, the assault teams rushed towards the small stretch of water, carrying small barges along with them. Paddling like a madman in his own boat before long, the young soldier dared to look for a second at the curtain of fire over him.

The shock from hitting the opposite shore and the frenzy of men scrambling up the dyke brought him back to the business at hand. In a flash, he was charging up along with his men. Philippe let his reflexes take over for him, gunning down an opposing soldier no sooner as he had lifted his head to shoot. Sooner then later, the young province found himself laying there, chest against the man-made barrier, the soldiers turned towards him for direction.

"All right, men. We need to push out the Germans just a little bit further and dig in until the engineers do their thing."

The men all looked at him, their eyes filled weariness, fatigue and fear.

"Look, I know it's been worse then hell these past few days…but if we clear this place, we open the port and from then it's only a matter of time before we're all home. And think of our comrades sailing to the other side of the pocket! If we fail here, we fail them!"

As far inspirational speeches could go under the circumstances, it seamed to have had some effect on the men near him. Their resolve seamed uplifted, if only by a little.

"Grenade!"

Everyone dashed away from the stick grenade, all but the young man who had called it. As quickly as it has come, the explosive was thrown to the other side of the dyke.

To which the Canadians replied with grenades of their own.

"I'm not standing here playing catch with grenades all day!" Philippe finally growled, "Come on, men. We're going over the top!"

Just a little more the thought echoed in Philippe's head, just a little further, just a little more effort and then it's all over. And as he started the short climb over the dyke, his Sten pointed forward, he sure as hell hoped that it would be so. Yet has he ran into the woods, firing in bursts, his thoughts kept going back to his adoptive father, whom was now probably facing odds similar to his, but with no chance of retreat.

Matthieu was tired, very tired, his body and soul hungering for a moment's peace. But peace was nowhere to be found, least of all around him. Sitting against the wall next to the room's window, he gave a quick glance to the wounded soldiers that were with him. In truth, not many in the squads he accompanied had been spared from injuries. Located as they were not too far from Breskens, there was no chance of getting them out anytime soon.

As a battle-weary Matthieu observed his surroundings, someone in the house must have made a bad move and exposed himself because suddenly a stream of bullets sprayed the house.

"Get down!" shouted Matthieu immediately when the firing started, before grabbing hold of a Bren gun placed against the window and returning fire to the house across the field. Others in the house with weapons fired too and, their opportunity lost, the Germans stopped firing, and so did the Canadians.

That is what fighting had been reduced to in the last few hours. Ever since the landing, pushing forward had been nothing but a slow exhausting grind for both sides. His men attacked and then dug in and awaited the inevitable counter attack, then it would be the Germans turn.

But not now, and it seamed as though something else was stirring in the distance. At the edge of his hearing, he could make out the sound of shots being exchanged form bolt action rifles and semi-automatic ones, the kind Alfred's armies used.

With a broad smile, he turned to him men, "Guys, I think we've got friendlies coming in."

The gun fire intensified as German soldiers began a frantic attempt at defending their position, and although he couldn't see it, Ève was the one charging in from the other side.

SMG in hand, she ran alongside her squad as they charged trough the bullets.

"Make a hole!" she ordered, pointing to the wall. A soldier next to her knelt, pointing his bazooka and fired, thus creating a nice breach.

Before the smoke cleared and the enemies inside could respond, she unpinned a grenade and threw it inside along with two other soldiers and reaching the wall only shortly after the explosion. Pausing on one side of the hole, she unpinned another grenade and threw it into the corridor, wreaking havoc. Rushing straight inside as half her squad went upstairs, she kicked in the door to the living room and stormed inside, unleashing a hail of bullets on a machine gun crew there before they could turn their weapons on her.

The house cleared, it was time to get what she had been sent here to get. Exiting the house from the front door, she waved both arms at the Canadian-occupied house and it was an extremely relieved Matthieu who came out and waved back and started running across the field all the way to her.

"My, I don't think I've ever been happier to see you or pretty much anyone else for a very long time!" he laughed as he caught his breath.

"It's my pleasure. I owed you one, anyway." she laughed back.

"What's the situation? Why are you here of all places?" he asked on a more serious tone.

"Well, the situation is that we've taken the pocket entirely. As for my reason for being here, well, let's just say a son wants his father back."

Matthew's eyes widened as he thought of his province. During the fighting, he had forced himself to think only in the here and now. But with his men now safe, his parental side was coming back in full force.

"Philippe?! Philippe sent you here? How is he? Where can I find him!?"

"Don't worry, Matthieu, apart from being tired and a bit worried about you, he's fine. I'll be taking you to him as soon as your wounded are looked after."

Matthieu felt a load lift off his shoulders the moment he entered the tent and laid eyes on Philippe who he stood over a table map. The first thing that struck him was the amount of mud and dirt that laid splattered all over him, from his boots to his beret. Then again, he himself probably looked far worse.

"So, I've been told that you did fairly well, Philippe." he finally said, smiling as he walked towards the province.

"Well…" said Philippe as he turned, returning Matthieu's smile in spades, "I've got your insane plan to thank for that. You sure like testing your luck, though."

"Yeah, well," sighed Matthieu," I just want this to be over, you know? So we can all move on."

Philippe grunted, "Me too, but I don't go around taking needlessly high risks."

"This again!? I thought we talked it over the night when I left!"

"We did, but then Arthur's been on my ass non stop about hurrying to the clearing and…well, we're stretched pretty thin."

Matthieu could see the stress in Philippe's eyes. Ever since he had taken over the representation for Quebec, he had always been a fierce defender of his people's right to self-determination in all things. And since the last war's conscription riots in which innocents died in clashes with the army and the country was nearly torn apart, the two of them had vowed not to let something like that happen again.

Well, as far as they could help it. Not all governments listen to the avatars of the nation.

"If it's conscription that worrying you, you know damn well my stance on it." he replied with a firm tone.

"I know, Simonds told me." Philippe replied calmly as he leaned on the table behind him and crossed his arms.

"All of it?" asked Matthieu.

"Oui."

Matthieu fell in a nearby chair and held his head with both hands. "I'm sorry, Philippe, I wanted to tell you in person…when the time was right."

"P'pa, you know damn well that there's no right time for news like that! And by god, the only things keeping me from beating some sense into you, especially after that stunt you pulled, are that the decision is out of your hands and that I'm just too damn happy to see you again in one piece! I mean…I care about you as much as you care about me, always have, always will. I'm just tired of having everyone playing in my back like this."

"Philippe, believe me, if it weren't for the war, I wouldn't be doing things the way they've been done," Matthieu spoke with a heavy heart, pausing long enough for him to get up from his chair "But, I know you better then anyone. I know how you react to things, I'm just trying to keep you from being worried or angry about the things you can't change. Because those things," he continued with more intonation, "they'll eat you alive from the inside, just like they've been doing for the last freaking 100 years!"

Philippe couldn't speak nor make the slightest sound as he fought with the lump building in his throat. He could only stare at Matthieu with eyes heavy with sadness and empathy as the other slowly wrapped his arms around him, leaving Philippe with his arms open for a brief second before closing them on him.

Pulling out of the hug, Matthieu then tenderly clasped his son's shoulders. "Philippe, I know it's been hard on you. Life's never done you any favours, and this war hasn't been any different. But you've pulled through all of it, and now I just need you to go with me a little further on this."

Philippe forced a slight smile and replied quietly "You know you can always count on me."

"And you know you can count on me, too." he replied just as quietly.

As the two exchanged smiles and nods, the tarp covering the tent's entrance was gently pushed aside as an embarrassed looking Ève walked in on the duo. As neither Canadians seemed to appreciate being disturbed in this rare and precious moment, it only made her more uncomfortable, but she walked in nevertheless.

"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you." she began but was cut short by an amicable hand gesture from Matthieu.

"Don't be, we were done." he smiled as he gave Philippe a quick glance.

Relieved, Ève let out a quiet sigh. "It's Arthur, he's on the phone, asking for you specifically."

"Hmph…figures." was Matthieu's only reply. Giving Ève a quick nod as thanks for relaying the information, he left the tent walking at a quick pace. As he went to the communication's station, Ève walked up to Philippe.

"Are you all right?" She asked as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

"You…were not supposed to see, or hear, that."

"What do you mean?"

"At home, when we are together, we are father and son." Philippe seamed to struggle with finding the words, "But we're not…supposed to be like that in public. Not that close anyway."

"I understand."

"I'm sure you do."

Meanwhile, Matthieu had reached the field phone on which Arthur was waiting impatiently on the other end. Sitting, he grabbed the phone on the equipment laden table and pressed it against his ear.

"I'm here, Arthur," he spoke once fully seated.

"Finally," began the Breton, obviously annoyed, "maybe I can get some actual information. All I've been able to get out of Philippe is that the situation is 'progressing', whatever that means."

Matthieu cleared his throat as he regained his composure before returning to the empire.

"Well, sir, it's like Passchendaele. Every time we attack, we have to cross a flat field of mud to get to an entrenched enemy and tank movements are hazardous at best. Not to mention all the damn canals."

"Matthew, I know all about the conditions under which you fight. I'm more concerned with the impact your slow progress has on the rest of us."

Matthieu felt the anger boiling up in him and coursing trough his body.

"Hey! I'm the one who's got to micro-manage a campaign that was made unnecessarily difficult by the far fetched plans of your command staff!"

"Matthew!" Arthur retorted warningly, "the enemy is slowly sliding into position, of that I am certain. If the supply situation isn't corrected by winter, the results could very well be catastrophic for all of us. Everything hinges on Antwerp."

Matthieu pinched the bridge of his nose. "I understand perfectly, Arthur, but Philippe is worried about the casualties reaching critical levels."

Silence.

It with a much more sombre tone that Arthur answered. "If it comes down to that, I'll answer for it. Chances are he'll blame me anyway. What's really important is if your ready to go all the way on this."

"Of course I am, sir," he replied, almost as a whisper, "but I may need to borrow a few of your marines."

"They are yours, use them well. Now, if you excuse me I have a meeting to attend."

The conversation done with, Matthieu hung up and almost immediately slammed his head on the desk. Those were the situations he hated the most. On one hand, he had Philippe, Quebec and the general stability of his country. On the other, he had the weight of the war temporarily on his shoulders. And while a part of him hoped against hope that Arthur was exaggerating to push him to act, he knew that was not so.

The worst part was that…he was well and truly stuck in his position. There was no way to drastically change the odds in his favour like in some political dispute at home. All he could do was pray for a miracle.

And he damn well knew that praying wouldn't be enough. Not even by a long shot.

After the talk with Arthur, the Canadians had taken to the offensive yet again and with a combination of land and amphibious assaults similar to what had been done for the Breskens pocket, they finally reached the Walcheren. The only thing separating them from it was a tiny, extremely well defended isthmus. With the surrounding dikes blown open by the RCAF earlier in the month, Simonds and his staff agreed that the best way to finish their objective was an all out assault by land and sea, using British marines for the sea landings.

On the 1st of November, the attacks were carried out all at once. Matthieu and a brigade of royal marines had landed in Flushing, and by nightfall, as the marines faced only moderate resistance from German garrisons, the city was secured. It wasn't the same everywhere, though, with Philippe leading the Canadians trying to force open the defenses of the isthmus in an all out assault which yielded little gains the night before and with the other landing force of marines lead by Ève encountering brutal coastal gunfire before they could land.

There wasn't a shadow of a doubt in anyone's mind, though, with Philippe having smashed open a bridgehead and with Ève's troops linking up with both him and Matthieu, that Walcheren would fall. It was only a question of time.

And that was a relatively reassuring thought, one that Matthieu found more soothing then the hum of the Buffalo's engine he was in as it and an entire column of others like it made it's way through water-filled roads on their way to Middleburg: the capital of Walcheren and HQ for general Daser.

Matthieu knew he had been invited to "surrender only to an armored foe", as Simonds had put it. Since the water made tank movements to Middleburg impossible, Matthieu had decided to test the limits of the term "armored" and take a column of amphibious vehicles instead.

It was a gambit, albeit a calculated one, and he knew it. Best case scenario? The major fighting would finally be over, but in the worst of cases…well, he'd be going straight into a street battle.

As the convoy finally entered the town, Matthieu could very well see the German soldiers looking as tired as his own men yet giving stern glances at the Canadians, determined to fight as they were.

As they kept on progressing, they eventually made it to the center where they were greeted by more soldiers, a man in an obviously high ranking uniform standing in front of a building that had all the looks of an HQ followed by another soldier, this one a sergeant of some kind.

The convoy spread out into the street before the men inside it disembarked. But while the rest of the troop was busy securing the area, Matthieu walked straight to the officer.

"General Daser, I presume?" He gently asked.

The general nodded, all the while not looking into Matthieu's eyes.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir." He smiled as he extended his arm to shake hands. "My name is Matthieu Williams, the representative for the nation of Canada."

The man's shock and surprise was beyond obvious, for Matthieu anyway. But, after all, how often is it that a nation comes to personally negotiate a surrender?

After the initial shock, Daser shook Matthieu's hand, after which Matthieu pointed to the building behind the general. "Shall we?" after which he walked in.

Daser began to follow as he was stopped by the other officer.

"Sir, Wir können einem augenblick beseitigen!"

Offended, the general turned on his heels and gave the subordinate a long, angry glare.

"Sergeant, wenn der vertereter einer nation kommnt hier persöhnlich zu kapitulieren, das wenigste sie tun können sie milt ehre zu behandeln, auch wenn sie es night wollen!"

The officer turned his eyes to his feet as he saluted the general, whom, after reciprocating, went inside. He did not have to go farther then the lobby, where Matthieu, his beret in his hands, waited.

"General," he said once the other was near him, "We both know that your surrender is a formality, and while I am prepared to hear your requests, it is not the reason for my presence. I wanted to come to thank you in person for doing this and to tell you that there is no shame to be had in this. You and your men have done your duty honourably."

"Danke, and if I may, so have yours." replied the General. "But if I'm not surrendering to you, then who is it I should give my knife to?"

"Well, we have a captain."

"A capt…a general surrendering to a captain!?" he exclaimed. "Fine, if I must, then I must. I'll send the stand down order, but I can't guarantee that all will follow it "

"Thank you, general. It won't be a problem."

The surrender at Middleburg had been the final nail in Germany's efforts in the area. On the eighth of November, all resistance had been mopped up and the Royal navy began to remove the many mines in the Scheldt, and by the 28th the first freighter arrived.

Ève watched as the Canadian-built cargo ship entered the harbour. The cheering of the crowds and the ceremonialism of it all only enhanced the feeling of accomplishment that all felt.

"I never thought I'd see this day." she expressed as Philippe poured champagne into the glasses yet again.

"And I never thought that I'd finish this bottle, and yet here I am! Life is ever so full of surprises!"

Ève couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that last remark, but raising her glass she spoke with a giggle. "To life's surprises, then!"

"Cheers!" Smiled Matthieu as he raised his glass, quickly followed by the other two.

"Hey, I know this Russian tradition were you have to brake the glass you use to toast on an important occasion so that they won't be used for a lesser occasion." he continued, still smiling.

"Really, now?" she asked playfully before quickly seizing both empty glasses and throwing them against a nearby wall, shattering them all with Philippe laughing to the point of loosing his breath.

"Because really, I can't think of anything greater then the liberation of my nation. I hope you brought more glasses, love." she continued, this time looking at Philippe,

"Oh, so I've officially made it up to 'love' now!?" replied Philippe.

"I swear, you two…" chuckled Matthieu as Ève grabbed Philippe by the hand and practically dragged him closer to the waterline.

And as both of them walked the docks, arms wrapped around each other, he couldn't help but feel…alive. The struggle of the Scheldt had been one of the worst battles for the Canadians, and upon seeing the joyful masses, and Philippe and Ève playing like young lovers despite all that had happened, he couldn't help but think that all of it had been worth it in the end.

Belgium was free again and Germany's defeat made all that closer.

As the people celebrated outside, Alfred stood impatiently in Arthur's dark room. Despite his best attempts at getting the empire out of it, Arthur simply refused to budge.

"Come on, Arthur! Are you really going to sit there and wallow while the entire city is up and parading in the streets!?"

"One day, Alfred, you'll be in my shoes and when that day comes you'll know that with every great triumph comes great sacrifice. How many died in the market garden and the Scheldt? I could have avoided all of that!"

This wasn't what Alfred wanted to hear.

Moving closer to Arthur, Alfred sat on the bed near the desk the other was sitting on.

"So, as I said, you're going to sit there and wallow, staring into your maps? Look, I didn't want to say anything before, but you've got to stop this."

"And why, pray tell, would that be?" asked an increasingly irritated Arthur.

"I think that you're so tired of seeing everyone and everything you care about hurt that you're trying to take their pain unto your shoulders, I mean…it's war, these things happen."

Arthur drew a long breath before letting out a long, tired sigh. As if all the accumulated worries of the last five years had finally taken their toll.

"Is it so obvious? We all have responsibilities, Alfred. And, with all that's happened, I can't help but feel like I failed them."

"Arthur, you haven't failed anyone. No one can know the future and besides, you're not alone in this…not anymore. I'm there for you, like you used to be with me."

Arthur stayed silent for a bit as he rubbed his forehead with his palm.

"Damn it, Alfred. I don't know where you learned to read people like this, but you've gotten good."

"Please, don't give me that. All it takes is caring enough for those around you. I guess we've simply been isolated for too long, in our own ways. Besides, that's what partners are for, no?"

"Then…in that case I suppose I can take a short break…partner." replied Arthur, an attempted smile on the corner of his lips as he spoke those last words, prompting Alfred to return it.

"I'll get your coat then!"

And as Alfred did so, he couldn't help but think that today had been a double victory.

After all, there were different kinds of liberations. And liberation from one's inner demons, even for a short time, was a victory in of itself.

* * *

Author's notes:

We are now diving right inot the hell that was the Scheldt at the time of the offensive.

During Market garden, the germans fortified and flooded the Scheldt with both water and troops, including elite paratroopers. When the canadians marched in, they walked into a muddy, soaken flatland dominated by dykes, roads and houses. Since the enemy either mined the roads or controled them, the use of tanks and mechanized vehicules was rendered almost impossible. To make matters worst, amphibious vehicules couldn't be used either since the water levels weren't high enough (there are accounts of a sergeant scouting ahead of a convoy in a canoe!) which meant that the main burden would fall upon the infantry. Most attacks took a form similar to WW1 conditons as a result. The Canadians would charge across a flat, muddy field towards a dyke used as cover by german machine gunners, who would have a field day simply spraying bullets.

There is no combination of words capable of getting across how awefull the conditions were, it has to be seen. So I invite you to watch this documentary [link] for more information.

The taking of the Scheldt was seperated into four tasks. The closing of south Baveland, the taking of the breskens pocket, the taking of south Baveland and finally, the taking of Walcheren.

When the 2dn division's advance towards the isthmus leading to southern baveland began, things went well. They crossed the Albert Canal and kept on going. However, resitance stiffened dramaticly when four battalions of paratroopers were deployed against them. The apex of the figting came when on october the 13 (a friday) the Canadian Black Watch lost all of it's rifle company commanders. Soon after however, a joint British-Canadian effort pushed the germans out of the area.

In order to take Breskens, the Canadian army had to cross the leopold canal. While the Canal itself is very small in width, it's oposite dyke had been fortified with machine gun posts and concrete bunkers, making any attempt at crossing suicide. It was decided then to unleash a secret weapon: The wasp. The wasp was a canadian built Bren carrier that carried a flamethrower intead of a machine gun, providing a lighter version of the churchill crocodile (The Canadian army had some but they were lost at dieppe.). To ensure victory, operation switchback was developed: an amphibious assault near the town of Breskens in order to split the enemy apart. On the 6th of october, the attack began. Due to some problems, operation switchback was delayed for 24 hours but went along without further problems and the landings were successfull. Breskens fell on the 22 of october, but fort Hendricks held on for 3 more weeks.

By the 23rd however, the Canadians turned to South Baveland ounce again with the clear intent on crossing the isthmus. With a combination of air raids, artillery fire from Breskens and successfull use of the techniques used in Switchback, the peninsula was in firm canadian controle, apart from the causeway leading to Walcheren.

Now, it has to be noted that Walcheren had been bombed as early as october 3 by the RAF in order to flood the Germans. It worked, and while the population suffered as a result of this, it was more then worth it in the long run. With most of the heavy guns taken out of action by floodwaters, artillery or bombs, the assault came almost emmediatly.

Royal marines were brought up to assault from the sea while the entire canadian army pushed it's way trough the causeway, which happened on the night of october the 31st. By the 1st of november, the port of Flushing was taken with moderate resitance. The same was not true at Westkapelle, were the British and Belgian forces had to fight for every inch. But by far, the hardest fight was for the causeway. As time went on, the noose tightened on Middleburg, the capital of the island, where General Daser had his headquearters. After being invited to surrender by the Canadians, he did on november 6 when a party lead by a captain entered the town (it lead to the General complaining about it, but he was otherwise very cooperative.), by november the 8th, all resitance was mopped up and the Royal navy had already been busy cleaning the mines at this point.

The first ship to enter Antwerp was the Canadian built "Fort Cataraqui" and a parade was done as it entered.

But when the smoke cleared, it was made all the more evident that Canada did not have the reserves needed to continue. Canada had already enacted conscription (as well as forced labor or sorts) in 1941-42, but chose to not send conscripts overseas. The manpower pool being so low, they decided to do so. Many people in the contry rose up and protested but the greatest opposition came from Quebec, whom had suffered the army's wrath in 1917 when Quebec city citizens rose up in riots over the government's heavy handedness in catching "draft dodgers" (which, has to be said, were many. up th 40% of Quebec conscripts ran to the northen hills and roamed in there until the war's end).

Now, it's not historical, but that russian tradition of breaking the glasses after drinking is something I picked from a tom clancy novel and I thought it was appropriate.

Finally, a special mention has to be made on Philippe's comments being made about Canada becoming a nation in the fields of flanders. This is a direct refereance to Vimy ridge, which is widely held as Canada's defining moment as a nation. WW1 also provides trhe basis for Philippe's and Eve's relationship.

Now, to the translations!

Arrête de te moquer d'moi: Stop moking me.

Oui: Yes

Sir, Wir können einem augenblick beseitigen: Sir, we could take them out in an instant

Sergeant, wenn der Vertreter einer Nation kommnt hier persöhnlich zu Kapitulieren, das wenigste was Sie tun können, sie mit Ehre zu behandeln, auch wenn Sie es night wollen:Sergeant, when the representative of a nation comes to personnaly negotiate a surrender, the least you can do is treat therm with honor, even if you don't want to

Now, I must specify that the german translations are what I wanted translated to german in the first place.

Weer Vrij: Dutch for "free again"

I... Think that's it. Hoped you enjoyed!

Special thanks: For providing the lion's share of the information used to write this.

Thanks for the beta reading!

for the german translations.

Special mentions: Kitaklaw. I wish we could have done this togheter.

Whatever your move, I'm backing you 110%!

Don't own Hetalia, but own all OC's


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